Imperfectly Yours
by Invisible Staircase
Summary: No one is perfect, least of all Nations.  A collection of shorts celebrating the imperfections found in the ones we care for.  Multi-character.
1. Chapter 1

**Fic Collection Intro:**

Welcome to my collection of shorts, all following (in some manner) the theme of celebrating imperfections in the ones you love. I love to glorify characters as much as the next fic writer, but it's also fun to embrace a flawed version of them as well. Multiple characters will pop up though I'm going to guess you'll see America lots, knowing me. Some shorts might be AU. Umm... oh right, and it's not always 'romantic' love I'm referring to. Ya know, you can love your family, friends, etc.

Anyhow, hope you can enjoy my brain droppings here. Don't expect frequent updates, this is mostly done on a whim whenever ideas hit.

* * *

><p><strong>Smile for the Mirror<br>**(America, Canada)**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>He knows America spends a lot of time in front of a mirror.<p>

For as sloppy and disheveled as some critique his brother's appearance, for as messy and unpressed as they complain his suits to be, Canada knows America is _very_ careful about the way he _looks. _No, not so much about how he _dresses_, obviously. His brother is peculiar about that. America would live in that aging jacket of his. It means a lot to him, the Canadian knows this. It's like wrapping yourself up in something familiar, being surrounded by better times. Well... maybe not better, but Nations did like their history.

But the jacket wasn't what Canada was thinking about as he ghosted through America's house, waiting for his brother to get ready. The two had been spending the week together, a bit of brotherly bonding that they both looked forward to and dreaded. Canada loved his brother... really... but sometimes he loved him just a bit more when he wasn't actually around him.

They were going to go see a baseball game this afternoon, not really Canada's cup of tea but still an enjoyable outing. When their bonding week was in America, they did rather American things, of course. America had been up rather early, taking care of some official business to ensure the whole of the afternoon was free. When he'd gotten home he'd told Canada he'd just be a minute, wanted to grab a shower. The shower itself wasn't what America was really wanting, Canada knew, but he didn't argue this.

America didn't spend a lot of time in front of a mirror because he was necessarily vain, though there was a wicked narcissistic streak to the Nation for sure. He didn't spend a lot of time in front of a mirror because he was trying to hide blemishes and such either, wasn't fretting over the complexion of his skin. If he was _that_ worried about having clear skin, he'd certainly have to lay off the burgers. But America was rather devoted to doing one thing in front of the mirror, everyday, before he'd ever go out in public. Canada wasn't sure if the idea had originally been his brother's or if he'd been coached to do this by the men and women involved in running the government.

Every day, before ever going out where people could see him, America would smile at the mirror.

It was a trick Canada knew they suggested in magazines for aspiring models. In order to make certain you had a 'winning' grin, you had to make sure you knew how it felt. You had to become familiar with it. You couldn't trust your face to instinctively hit that front page smile. It took training and devotion to always get that Hollywood look... and Alfred religiously practiced. Sure, Canada thought the grin was a bit much sometimes, knew it was fake more often than not, but he accepted this about his brother.

America played the smiling poster boy, the golden child his government wanted him to be. The grinning hero of the world.

It made his brother really ugly to him sometimes, that smile of his. America could be petty and nasty and cruel sometimes, but he'd gotten so good at that smile that he would just cover it all up. It was disgusting... but it was what Nations _did_, after all, wasn't it? Still... it made the smile hollow and bland, no matter how perfect it was tailored. The smile was empty more often than not.

Stepping up to the bathroom door, left open a crack to let the steam out so the mirror wouldn't fog, Canada peered in. There, dressed in just a towel so far was his brother, working that smile onto his face over and over. Smile... let it drop... smile... let it drop. Push-ups of the facial variety.

The Canadian didn't pay attention to that though. Instead he looked at the slight bit of pudge around America's middle, the telltale sign of a poor diet. Oh sure, under was muscle, but his brother lacked that toned A-list actor's body. He stared at his brother's poor posture, slouched without the public eye upon him. He looked at the face between smiles, exasperated and a bit bored. And he watched as America finally noticed him, sending him a lopsided asymmetrical grin, self deprecating and wry. Canada liked that smile better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Bravado  
><strong>(Prussia, Germany)**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>There were days Germany would be all too happy to put his brother's head through a wall.<p>

Oh, sadly, it wasn't really something he'd have to explain to others. Prussia did a rather fantastic job coming off as annoying. Whether it was his loud mouth, his almost non-stop proclamations of 'his awesome', or just his generally rowdy and self-centered behavior... it rubbed others the wrong way. Perhaps in the past, when he'd still been a Nation, others had been forced to accept it more. To play nice lest they find a more than capable army at their doorstep. But Germany could see it, the way the other Nations brushed Prussia off, the way they no longer feared any sort of retribution should they publicly speak ill of him.

Germany knew Prussia saw it, too.

There was _no_ acceptable _excuse_ for Prussia's atrocious behavior. It was _never_ ok to be such a braggart, teasing and mocking others as Prussia often did. It wasn't as though Germany had nothing but free time, it wasn't as if his country was in some sort of idyllic prosperous state, unaffected by the events of the rest of the world, that allowed him all the time in the universe to indulge in his brother's whims. Germany had a job to do, even if Prussia no longer did. He had Nation friends and allies who often relied upon him and tried his patience as well. Germany honestly did not have the time to play 'babysitter'. He loved his brother, that could not change, but it was welcome in a guilty sort of way when the other would leave his home to go bother other Nations.

Sadly, it really could only be called bother. It was hardly a visit.

Germany wasn't made of patience. Good lord this was tested far too often, and he knew he failed to keep his temper in check more than he succeeded. Yes, there were times he lashed out, and in a paranoid sort of way he'd feel guilty when it happened. Not because it was unjustified... but there was that stupid lingering voice in his head that yelled at him, telling him to watch out. Everyone was going to start thinking he was going _'that way'_ again. Oh it was maddening... and it made his brother a 'safe' outlet, for better or worse.

All the same... there were days when Germany didn't _excuse_ his brother's horrible personality, but rather _understood_ it for what it was. For where it came from. Prussia had never been a humble Nation, and yes he'd always been abrasive... but standing in his doorway, gazing into a quiet home, Germany reflected on why his brother had become 'worse'.

For a start... Prussia was lonely, terribly and painfully so. No amount of self-deception would _ever_ convince anyone, least of all Prussia, that he enjoyed the state he existed in. It wasn't simply a 'lack of friends' that created this empty hungering hole in his core. His brother _could_ change his attitude, try to become friendlier, less of a pest. He could make the effort to have friends if he _really_ wanted to... but friends would and could never end the loneliness Prussia felt. It was a loneliness of existence... it was a state of 'aloneness' that would never fade away... not unless another Nation fell into the ambiguous 'ex-Nation' state Prussia held.

His brother was also, though he would never admit it, scared. Just how _was_ he still alive? Awesome wasn't a real answer, no matter how much he wanted it to be. Even Rome, for all intents and purposes, was gone. Dead. Nothing but random phantom appearances when his grandson needed him. How could you explain why Prussia was still there? How could you explain how he'd continue to remain? Germany simply couldn't imagine willingly trading his migraine inducing life as a Nation for this unanswerable mystery state Prussia lived in. The lack of answers, of order, of duty... would likely drive Germany mad.

His dogs raced forward, welcoming him home after a long day, and Germany tried to clear his mind of such negative thoughts of his brother. He bent over, petting each of his dogs in equal measure, before striding inside. Prussia wasn't home, but he'd been here. Germany could tell.

He ignored the way his things were no longer in the order and placement he preferred them to be in favor of noting that Prussia had been 'cleaning'. When he got to the kitchen he ignored the slight disarray that signaled someone else had been cooking in favor of noting the plate of leftovers left in the fridge, noting that his favorite beer was there in ample quantity. He turned a blind eye to the annoyances in the note demanding he call and thank 'the awesome me for such an awesome meal'.

He ate, and he cleaned his dishes, and he reorganized his shelves and cupboards and bookshelves and even his dresser drawers, before he called Prussia. He wasn't going to ask where he was, or demand he behave. He waited patiently and endured the slew of words that flew off of Prussia's lips the minute the ex-Nation answered the phone. He listened to the bragging and boasting and the not-so-subtle hints that Prussia still wanted his little brother to be proud of him.

Germany waited until there was silence, and then he cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said simply. Even if he didn't always get along with Prussia... he still appreciated him.


End file.
